


Changing Episodes - Alias

by Shriamato



Category: Alias, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover-Fusion, Episode: s05e08 Changing Channels, F/M, Genderswap, Humor, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shriamato/pseuds/Shriamato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda for "Changing Channels". Sam and Dean get trapped in Alias.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Episodes - Alias

**Author's Note:**

> "Kripke Started It" Changing Channels Free For All Meme
> 
> *
> 
> Originally posted on livejournal, under my shri_amato account, back in 2009.
> 
> *
> 
> MEGA spoilers for the first two seasons of Alias.

One minute Dean's listening to Sam talk about how he has genital herpes, and the next he's cuffed to a chair, Kool Aid red hair hanging in his eyes, telling some creepy Asian guy to bite him.  
  
Backwards.  
  
He'll have to remember that one.  
  
He laughs, the words coming out without him even having to think. "I've got bad news for you, man. I am your worst enemy. I've got nothing to lose."  
  
Creepy Guy motions for one of his goons to bring over a black case, and opens it.  
  
"That's not exactly true," Creepy Guy says,  tilting the case so Dean can see the tools inside. "You have teeth."  
  
It's original, Dean'll give him that. Most of the "bad guys" he goes up against usually go right for the intestines.  
  
Still, he's beyond relieved when the channel changes again.  
  
He likes his teeth right where they are.  
  
*  
  
He's sitting in what seems to be a, _shit_... a CIA office if the logo on the wall is any indication, with chairs that appear to be about the same shade of red as the hair that is _still_ hanging in his face.  
  
How chicks deal with it, he'll never understand. Hell, how _Sam_ deals with it, he'll never understand.  
  
And, his jaw feels swollen. Apparently the channel changing didn't stop him from losing his tooth. _Fucking awesome._  
  
Sam walks in, and sits down behind the desk, sighing as he goes. "Well, this could be very interesting," he says.  
  
Again, words are spewing out of his mouth before he can stop them. "Does this mean I'm in?"  
  
"No, not yet. They're reviewing your statement. It's -- you wrote a lot," Sam replies.  
  
"I know," his mouth says, moving again without his brain's input. He's starting to think this is what being possessed is like.  
  
"It's like Tolstoy long," Sam says, grinning a little. "Devlin says it could take weeks to verify. But I know we could use another double agent in SD-6. So, we'll be in contact," and Dean's mouth is the one to curl into a slight grin this time before Sam goes on. "I'm gonna get you a ride out of here, keep you concealed... why are you shaking your head?"  
  
Dean himself hadn't even realized he had been, but still, his mouth seems to know what to say. Good thing, cause he doesn't have a clue what's going on. "Because you said 'another'."  
  
Sam cocks his head. "So?"  
  
"So if you really had one already... you most likely wouldn't tell me until I was authenticated."  
  
"Unless I had an instinct about you," Sam says, grinning again.  
  
Dean's mind conjures up all the dirty responses he could have to that, but he doesn't get a chance to voice them. "My bet is you don't have another double --"  
  
"We might --"  
  
" -- but you want me to believe that you do so that on the off chance that I'm actually looking to be a triple agent, I'll report back that there's an existing mole to upset the balance of my agency."  
  
Sam's grin had gotten down right creepy, but apparently Dean Jr. doesn't mind. "I'm not trying to play you," Sam says, while Dean desperately reminds himself that right now, with a Trickster floating about, is not the best time to be jumping his brother.  
  
"We'll see," Dean himself says this time, concentrating harder on the script playing out in his mind.  
  
Trade-mark 'trust me, I'm harmless' puppy eyes on full blast, Sam bows his head. "I have an instinct," he repeats earnestly.  
  
Dean smiles softly back at him, his jaw aching, and tries really hard not to blush.  
  
*  
  
So apparently his "fiance" had died, had been killed, because he'd told her (him? hard to tell when all he hears is the name Danny) what it was he did.  
  
Not that Dean himself completely knows what it is he does. All he knows is SD-6 is bad, CIA is good (which he can't help but laugh at), the YED is his boss (minus the yellow eyes, but just as creepy), and, oh yeah, his Dad is apparently making a cameo in this show as _his Dad_.  
  
Damn Trickster.  
  
*  
  
So, Dean thinks that using the ploy of "Joey's Pizza" is not only lame, but really counterproductive if Sam really wants him to meet him where-the-fuck-ever. Just hearing the word 'pizza' makes Dean hungry.  
  
Lucky, they're apparently meeting at a gas station, so snacks. All is good.  
  
Only, his hands are reaching for a V8. If he could, he'd smack _himself_ in the head. "It's me."  
  
Sam, who's busy groping a box of cereal, doesn't even look at him when he asks how he's doing, which yeah, undercover agent meeting with handler (a term which had put some _really really_ dirty images in his mind) means uber secrecy, but still. Rude much?  
  
Dean rolls his eyes for the V8's benefit before going along with the script. "How am I doing? I'd say things have been better," he says. "I'm working with friends who have no idea who they're really working for."  
  
"I heard Sloane had you meet your father," Sam says, and really, for being a super-secret kick-ass undercover agent's handler, he really doesn't know the meaning of whisper. Not that he _ever_ has.  
  
The name Sloane throws him off for a moment before remembering the whole 'Sloane-is-Azazel' deal. He envisions all the ways he's going to kill the Trickster when they get out of this. Slowly. Painfully. "Yes, he did. So, what's my counter-mission?"  
  
Sam scoffs, finally abandoning the hope of a love-affair with the cereal box and setting it down. "Navour's been on our short list for the past six months. In August, he attempted to purchase a nuke from Libya," he tells Dean, picking up another cereal box to molest.  
  
Dean's really gonna have to talk to him about that. It's not _natural_.  
  
"You already knew about Moscow?" Hell, Dean doesn't even know about Moscow.  
  
"No, we didn't. Thank you for that."  
  
Getting cold standing practically inside the fridge, Dean turns away , and goes to stand next to his brother -- handler. Whatever. "Don't mention it," his says, crossing his arms over his chest. "That was cold. So, what's my move?"  
  
Sam puts the box down, and moves to walk around Dean. "Carry out your assignment. Get the documents. When you get back make sure you are holding the stolen files."  
  
Dean perks up at the word 'stolen'. He's always liked stealing.  
  
Grabbing a cup, Sam continues. "We'll execute two brush passes at the airport terminal. The first one will take place at the gate. We'll intercept the materials and create a duplicate copy, then return them to you in a second pass to be executed at the airport curb."  
  
Dean's mind had gone straight to the gutter as soon as he heard "brush pass", so he hasn't exactly caught the rest of what Sam had said. "That's it?" he asks when Sam's _blah blah blahing_ had stopped.  
  
"That's it," Sam says with a nod. "Want a Slush-O?"  
  
"No, thank you," is what the script in Dean's head says, even though he kind of does.  
  
"They're delicious," Sam's says, like he need to inform Dean of that fact. Like Dean wasn't the one who used to distracted cashiers so that Sammy could get one and get out before anyone noticed.  
  
"No, thanks," the script has his mouth say. "I said I was cold."  
  
Sam kind of frowns, before actually _looking_ at him. "Good luck."  
  
Dean feels another blush coming on, so he just turns and walks away.  
  
*  
  
Anna's a bitch, so it's no wonder that Bella gets stuck playing her.  
  
At least Dean _finally_ gets to kick her ass.  
  
Hey, it's in the script.  
  
*  
  
He jumped and somehow ended up... here.  
  
Wherever here was.  
  
Some plush, high end hotel that had Dean wondering why the hell he and Sam didn't shell out a little more cash. The beds in this place have to be _awesome_. Not to mention the showers.  
  
And, he's got blonde hair this time. Okay then.  
  
His hand moves up to his ear, and his mouth moves again. It's getting a little tiring. "Dixon, do you copy?"  
  
Now he's talking to himself. Trickster is going _down_.  
  
Except a voice, one he swears sounds just like Castiel echoes in his ear. "Wow, that's loud."  
  
What he _really_ wants to do is demand where the angel is hiding, why he's talking in his ear, and why the hell isn't he getting them out of there.  
  
"You told Marshall you wanted it louder," is what he actually says. "I was there."  
  
"Okay," Castiel's voice says in his ear again. "My headache and I are 1017."  
  
Dean's amazed. Castiel just told a joke. Kind of.  
  
It was _definitely_ the end of the world.  
  
*  
  
He's not sure what happened, and he's not sure he wants to.  
  
All he knows is that he's sitting in a open grave, which, in and of itself, is not a rare occurrence, but the _ticking nuclear bomb_ he's straddling is.  
  
But the absolute weirdest part of the whole thing? He's on the phone with Ash.  
  
Or, Marshall as he's apparently called here. Of course. He's father is named Jack here and not John.  
  
Thinking of it, he's not actually sure if Sam is actually called Sam either.  
  
Or, really, if he himself is actually Dean.  
  
It's confusing.  
  
 _tick tick tick  
  
Shit_.  
  
" -- red wire, yellow, blue-white, a yellow-red, a black, a orange, a purple-white, a green-white, a blue -- "  
  
Dean's getting dizzy just listening to his own voice.  
  
"Okay, cut the blue-white wire," Ash-Marshall says.  
  
Dean is trying his damnedest not to hyperventilate. "Okay, cutting the blue-white wire!"  
  
"Yeah... _oh_! Hold the phone!"  
  
"Don't tell me to hold the phone! I'm sitting a on _ticking nuclear bomb_!" Wow, he didn't know his voice could get _that_ high.  
  
"Are there two timer panels or one?" Ash-Marshall asks, the sound of paper rustle in the background.  
  
"Just, ah... I only see one."  
  
More rustling, and Dean swears his life is starting to fly before his eyes. "Alright, uh, try the blue wire!"  
  
" _Try it_?!" Dean exclaims, script the last thing on his mind, but it feels _right_.  
  
"Cut it! Cut it," Ash-Marshall says, sounding about as panicked as Dean feels.  
  
Dean takes a deep breathe and cuts the blue wire.  
  
It stops. _Oh god_ , it stops.  
  
He actually chokes on a sob.  
  
Goddamn, he's never, _ever_ going to complain about hunting demons again.  
  
*  
  
After the whole "broken watch, heart stopping" episode, Dean's not entirely sure whether Sam's just playing a role anymore.  
  
And, if the way his own heart started trying to beat it's damn way out of his chest when he asked Sam out on a _hockey_ "date", of all things, Dean isn't sure if he is either.  
  
After all, apparently in this little world they've found themselves in, Sam _isn't_ Dean's brother. In fact, Dean's "mother" Laura aka Irina Derevko, killed Sam's "father".  
  
Makes for some serious angst, and a shit-load of chick flick moments that Dean, thanks to the script, can't bullshit his way out of. But, maybe possibly, it's a lot less angst then say, incest.  
  
Maybe.  
  
*  
  
Dean's been getting used to the jumps, the missing pieces, and the stupid script, but still. He had a feeling that _this_... this wasn't gonna end well.  
  
He'd been running down a white hall, red hair again falling in his face, and Sam was running behind him.  
  
Oh, and they were being chased by a freakin' wall of water.  
  
How Sam managed to fall behind with those freakish long legs of his, he'll never know.  
  
Watching the water slam Sam's face against the window is like watching him die all over again.  
  
The rage in which he slams the fire extinguisher into the door isn't just because the script demands it of him.  
  
He's not surprised when it goes black.  
  
*  
  
He wakes up cuffed to a chair, red hair falling in his face, and deja vu all over again.  
  
Except that's when Ellen walks in.  
  
Color him shocked when what comes out of his mouth is " _Mom_?"

  
*

 

The jumps seem to speed up for awhile after that.  
  
First off, Irina seems like a bitch and she's just as scary as Ellen. Not surprising seeing as Ellen is _playing_ her, but still. Note worthy.  
  
Second, getting shot always hurts and adrenaline is an amazing, amazing thing.  
  
Third, Sam's name is apparently Vaughn. It's a very -- _odd_ first name.  
  
*  
  
He finds Sam-Vaughn in some basement lab type thing, with no idea of how he or Sam-Vaughn actually got there.  
  
He's just happy that Sam is _alive_.  
  
And shirtless.  
  
He's so very, very happy.  
  
Especially when he not only gets to introduce Sam-Vaughn to the wonders of synthetic adrenaline, but also gets to put his hands all over Sam-Vaughn's naked chest.  
  
All in the name of helping him, of course.  
  
They manage to get out of the house and find Sam-Vaughn a shirt, which Dean thinks is a waste, but whatever. He'd grabbed it without thinking, so it's got to be the script.  
  
"Ow. That hurt," Sam says, grinning for some strange reason.  
  
It must be contagious, cause Dean starts smiling too as he says he's sorry.  
  
"Don't be," Sam says, looking around. "Where are we?"  
  
"France."  
  
France? _Really_? Awesome.  
  
"France? Really? France," Sam says, echoing Dean's thoughts.  
  
Dean shakes his head, fighting to wipe the grin off his face. "There's too much to explain. I have to get back before Dixon comes after me," he says, while Sam just stands there _staring_ at him. "You can get back to Los Angeles, right?"  
  
Sam nods, and his grin gets _bigger_. Dean hadn't thought it possible.  
  
"What?" he asks, when Sam just keeps staring.  
  
"You saved my life," Sam whispers.  
  
Dean's mind, the part _not_ taken over by the script wants to him to scream ' _I do that daily, idiot!_ ", but he just grins and stares back at Sam.  
  
It's all getting a little too mushy for him.  
  
"I'll see you back in L.A." he says trying to break their gaze.  
  
He feels his grins get as big as Sam's as he brushes by (against) him and walks away.  
  
*  
  
Sam apparently has a life-affirming love affair with a screwdriver.  
  
Oh, Dean is so going to use that to his advantage when they get out of this.  
  
*  
  
They end up in Spain, of all places, with a much much much younger version of Bobby, who is Sam-Vaughn's bestest friend. Oh, Dean's getting so much ammunition out of this.  
  
They're intercepting some book, which explains why both Sam-Vaughn and Bobby-Weiss are there. Stakeout are the most boring thing ever.  
  
Except for when he's a government spy on a stakeout with his hot little-brother/handler and gets to flirt outrageously, that is.  
  
Oh, and Bobby is much funnier when he's Bobby-Weiss.  
  
"Anything?" he asks into his com-link.  
  
"Not yet," Sam replies. "So, hey, you know there's some really good restaurants in Barcelona."  
  
Dean grins, peering though his binoculars, trying to swing them around toward Sam's hiding place, but the script keeps them magnetized to where they're supposed to be. "Yeah, I know."  
  
"You know what I was thinking?" Sam asks.  
  
"I think I do."  
  
"If we could actually be seen in public together, we'd get the bible and get a bite."  
  
"Yeah, can the whole team come?" Bobby-Weiss butts in. "We're starving."  
  
Scratch that. He's not funny, and he's not getting his annual bottle of Christmas whiskey this year either.  
  
*  
  
Ellen-Laura-Irina turns herself in. She wants to talk to Dean.  
  
Only to Dean.  
  
He so confused.  
  
*  
  
So, John-Jack is a obsessive bastard.  
  
Ellen-Laura-Irina is a scary manipulative bitch.  
  
Dean's apparently been trained since childhood to be a spy.  
  
All in all, nothings really changed.  
  
*  
  
Except that's about the time that a jump leaves Dean stuck in a isolation room with Sam-Vaughn for the night, awaiting news about whether that water that almost drowned Sam-Vaughn had infected one or both of them with some sort of virus.  
  
Dean's pretty sure Sam's gonna be fine.  
  
One, it's a show. It's not real, right?  
  
Two, Sam's got the demonic immune system. If a demon virus can't take him down, then some stupid little water virus is nothing to get their panties in a twist over.  
  
It's himself he's a little worried about.  
  
*  
  
He wakes up the next morning to Sam staring at him from the other bed.  
  
"Hi," Dean whispers, for some reason not wanting to be too loud. Break the silence.  
  
"Hey," Sam whispers back.  
  
"Did you close your eyes at all?" he asks.  
  
"On and off," Sam says. "You talk in your sleep."  
  
Dean's eyes widen. "No... what did I say?"  
  
Sam grins. "Don't frost the pie. Seemed _really_ important."  
  
Dean grins back, laughing a little. "No idea," he says, before looking back at Sam. "You think we're sick?"  
  
"I don't know," Sam says back.  
  
He sudden get this really strong urge to spill all his secrets. To come clean. He knows what it is. He fought past it plenty of time before dying before. "Vaughn, can I tell you something?" he says, finding it odd that it's the first time that he actually _remembers_ saying the name.  
  
Before Sam-Vaughn can answer, though, the door opens and the moment is broken.  
  
*  
  
 _Hemorrhaging from the fingernails._  
  
A fancy way of saying that there's blood under the fingernails.  
  
Four words summing up the fact that Dean's little brother is dying.  
  
 _Again_.  
  
And as far as Dean knows, there's no supernatural shit going on around this place, except for the goddamned Trickster, so it's not like he can go dig up a crossroads and offer up the fucking world on a platter if it meant saving Sam.  
  
And he'd do it, too. Fuck Castiel and Michael and Zack and anyone else who'd have an issue with it. He'd do it. In a heartbeat.  
  
Instead all he can do is march in to face a woman who's killed, who's lied, who's never earned any kind of trust being played by a woman who's scared him, hit him and bitched him out for not letting her know he was alive.  
  
He doesn't hate Irina, but the script makes him want to.  
  
The gate clangs closed behind him and the words come out rushed, frantic. He doesn't care. "Is there an antidote?"  
  
Irina nods, sitting there with a book in hand. "Yes. It can be found in Paldiski," she says. "It's a former Soviet training base for nuclear submarine personnel."  
  
He wants to turn and run out, find the cure, get Sam _back_ , but the script holds him fast. "Who operates the base now?"  
  
"When Estonia gained independence, the local authorities graciously accepted our offer to take over the facility," Irina says, standing up and walking over to the glass partition. "I can tell you where it is, but even if you can get it... I can't guarantee anything."  
  
*  
  
They have Sam in isolation again.  
  
It hurts to look at him like that.  
  
He wakes up as Dean sits down next to his bed.  
  
"Hi," Sam whisper, voice horse.  
  
Dean tries to smile as he whispers hi back.  
  
"I talked to my mother," Dean says, the word tasting weird in his mouth. "There's an antidote. I'm going to go get it."  
  
"How dangerous?" Sam asks.  
  
"Getting the serum? Nah, it'll be easy," he says. "But, I need to take some of your blood with me, okay?"  
  
He's careful, tying the tourniquet and letting his hand rest against the inside of Sam's elbow for a moment, before inserting the syringe. "Couple of days, you'll be doing wind sprints," he says, trying for a joke, but it comes out far too serious.  
  
Even if they get Sam out of this mess, no guarantees that they'll get out of the rest of it.  
  
Sam reaches over and grabs his hand... holds it. "Be careful," he whispers, before slurring out a name that Dean _still_ doesn't catch. "Sorry I'm so tired," he says, eyes closing.  
  
That's when the alarms start blaring.  
  
*  
  
He stands in the hall that they wheeled Sam-Vaughn down, feeling lost. The nurse had thrown his cover at him before following through the doors they wouldn't let Dean through.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Dean turns at the voice, and freezes at the sight of Jessica Moore standing in front of him, tears in her eyes.  
  
"Did they tell you anything?" she asks, griping the strap of her purse tight with both hands.  
  
Dean forces himself to shake his head, croak out a no.  
  
"The paramedics called," Jess says, like she didn't even hear. "'What was his last meal? Is he allergic to any medication?' I got to the hospital as fast as I could. So, you work with Michael?"  
  
He nods, bowing his head, trying to remember his cover. "Yeah. We're in the same bureau at state," he says, thankful, for once, for the script running through his mind. "I'm Rita."  
  
 _Rita_?! This show sure has some odd names.  
  
Although, now that he thinks about it, he guesses he should have known that Sam's first name was Michael, seeing as the script obviously knows. Still, Michael... if he never hears that name again, it'll be too soon.  
  
Jess give him a weak smile, and reaches out to shake his hand. "I'm Alice," she says. "I'm listed as his emergency contact. I'm Michael's girlfriend."  
  
Well, crap.  
  
*  
  
Sam's fine.  
  
Dean though, is having a crisis. Why he is having a crisis doesn't make sense to him, but he is. So, he had to kill the fugly bastard playing Sloane in order to get the antidote from this Shark guy.  
  
He'd done worse.  
  
So why was the script telling him to be all angsty over it?  
  
Sam was alive. The bad guy was not.  
  
It's a win-win if you ask Dean.  
  
*  
  
Except Sloane is still alive and the shark Sark is now working with him.  
  
Sneaky little bastard.  
  
Dean should totally kick his ass on principle.  
  
No one makes Dean Winchester angst about killing a fugly, even if he does have really stupid, girly cover names.  
  
*  
  
Jack, Irina and Dean have a little family outing... to India.  
  
To recover a couple nukes.  
  
And he thought his _real_ family was fucked up.  
  
Go figure.  
  
*  
  
It's the first time he's actually _seen_ Ash-Marshall, and it's not what he was expecting.  
  
No mullet.  
  
No business up front. No party in the back.  
  
Just... **no**. **freakin** '. **mullet**.  
  
He was a... _a geek_.  
  
And he was going on a mission with him.  
  
With a photographic memory.  
  
Dean figured it'd look bad if he bashed his head into the table.  
  
Plus, the script totally wouldn't let him.  
  
Damn script.  
  
*  
  
The CIA wanted to bring Ash-Marshall in.  
  
Dean agreed, mostly because the script was telling him to.  
  
Only then the stupid agents who were _supposed_ to kidnap him _didn't_ kidnap him, letting someone else kidnap the freaky, funny, no-mullet geek with a photographic memory full of state-of-the-art surveillance system stuff that could most possibly bring down the freakin' US government.  
  
And Dean wasn't even exaggerating all that much.  
  
*  
  
After him and Castiel-Dixon (who is so much cooler then regular old Castiel) go and retrieve Ash-Marshall, and bring him home, things... well, they still don't settle down that much.  
  
The episode jumps and he's walking through an airport with _spiky purple hair_ , wearing a mini-skirt and button down vest (what? he makes it look _good_ ), and this freakin' awesome ring that can actually _cut. through. stuff._  
  
He's _so_ stealing it.  
  
Castiel-Dixon is telling him that he spotted the mark and that he totally gets to use the ring. Yahtzee.  
  
He pretty much has to strip down to his freakin' underware in order to get a chance to get whatever it is he's supposed to be getting out of the mark's pocket, but it's totally worth it when he walks into the CIA's little hide-a-way and Sam-Vaughn starts checking him out.  
  
Blatantly.  
  
Then he asks him out.  
  
"Listen, do you want to go to dinner?" Sam asks, earnest voice and all.  
  
Not that he needs it.  
  
"When we were driving in, I saw this place. Rousseau, I think," he continues.  
  
Dean decides he's gonna play it up a little. Have a little fun. "Vaughn," he says, making a conscious effort to say the _name_. "We... we can't do that."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Well, straight to the point there.  
  
"Well," Dean says, trying to think of _something_ when everything in him is screaming 'yes yes yes yes!'. "For a million reasons. If Alliance security sees us together, they'll kill us."  
  
Sam's determined though. "The nearest Alliance cell is in Zurich. CIA tracks SD-6 security. There haven't been signals."  
  
"You're serious?"  
  
"We've been to restaurants and sat near each other. We've met in parks and convenience stores, and all of them in L.A., where we are much more likely to be seen," he says, pulling out the logic that always comes before the puppy eyes. "Two things. One, I think it's not that great a risk. And two, I am hungry. I'm starving," he says and Dean tries not to let his mind slip into the gutter like it so desperately wants to. "I mean, we're going to be together anyway. Why can't we be eating? Aren't you hungry?"  
  
Yup, and there goes Dean's mind. Hello gutter.  
  
He grins. "Yeah, I'm hungry," he says. "Let's do it."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Dean nods, and looks down at his clothes. "I'm gonna go change," he says.  
  
Sam grins back at him. "That's a good idea."  
  
"Okay," Dean says, grabbing his bag and brushing by Sam.  
  
He looks back before he goes into the bathroom, and sees Bobby-Weiss doing some sort of weird dance.  
  
The blackmail material is sure piling up.  
  
*  
  
The restaurant is cozy and nothing like the dinners they frequent.  
  
The manager himself seats them, complementing Sam-Vaughn on his French.  
  
And now Dean understands why girls swoon when a guy speaks French. Cause, damn.  
  
As they look through their menus, they keep sneaking peeks at each other while they _think_ the other isn't looking.  
  
Three out of four times, the other one is.  
  
Dean wonders when he became such a girl about all this.  
  
He's at a lost for words, and apparently the script is too, for a while at least. "I think wine would help the situation."  
  
Sam smiles and says he was just thinking the same thing before turning to a waiter. "S'il vous plaît."  
  
Dean does not swoon. At all.  
  
Oh god.  
  
*  
  
Wine does help. A lot.  
  
They've relaxed enough to actually talk to each other about something other then work.  
  
So why is the script telling him to talk about work?  
  
"I heard you on the phone with base ops," Dean says. "Your code name is Boy Scout?"  
  
Sam laughs. "Uh, yeah."  
  
Dean shakes his head and reaches for his wine, telling himself he _wishes_ it was beer. "Why?"  
  
"Um, it goes back to CST. Clandestine Service Training," Sam says, leaning forward. "You don't want to hear this."  
  
" _Vaughn_."  
  
He sighs. "Okay, the Boy Scouts have a motto."  
  
"Always be prepared."  
  
He nods. "On my first day, I showed up and I had forgotten my field manual. So the instructor said, 'That is your one screwup. From now on, you'd better be prepared."  
  
Bobby-Weiss must have said something, because Sam reaches up and points to his ear-piece as he says "Alright, I'm gonna turn you off now. Goodbye."  
  
He pulls out the ear-piece, and gives Dean a sheepish grin. "Sorry."  
  
*  
  
They talk about pets that Dean never had, and about how Sam-Vaughn used to play pool.  
  
They talk about how they should play together.  
  
No, Dean's mind isn't in the gutter _at all_.  
  
The manager comes over just about then. "So, you liked everything?"  
  
Dean nods, and lets the words come out of his mouth, even though he doesn't understand them. "C'était trés bon. Merci."  
  
Sam nods too. "Parfait."  
  
The manager smiles, and Dean gets a little uncomfortable at the knowing look in the guy's eyes. "So, uh, it is too late for you to set out for Avignon. And, uh, you had much to drink," he says, eyebrows practically wagging. "Upstairs, I have an inn. And tonight, you are my guests," he pulls out a key and sets it on the table. "Please. Take your time. Merci."  
  
He walks away and Dean and Sam just look at each other with matching 'what the fuck' faces.  
  
Sam, though, looks like he's considering it through, as he reaches out and picks up the key. He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. "Did you ask him to do that?"  
  
Dean doesn't say anything. He didn't. As far as he knows, he didn't.  
  
God, he's so totally blushing.  
  
He huffs out a laugh. "There are so many issues with this, I don't know where to begin."  
  
"Hold on a second," Sam says. "I think we should have an open mind about this."  
  
"An open mind," Dean repeats, wonder if Sam's really getting at what he thinks he's getting at.  
  
Sam nods. "It'd be rude to overlook such a generous offer without proper consideration."  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"Okay," Sam says, nodding again.  
  
"But there are clearly issues."  
  
"Yes," Sam says. "I don't disagree."  
  
Dean lets himself grin. "Okay," he breathes out.  
  
Sam just smiles back at him.  
  
Then the generous, if slightly creepy, manager is back. "Monsieur, vous avec un téléphone."  
  
Sam-Vaughn takes it with a quick thanks.  
  
His eyes widen, and Dean's already moving by the time Sam-Vaughn's issues his warning.  
  
He throws the wine bottle and Sam-Vaughn flips the table while pulling his gun, both of them ducking behind the bar as the gun men open fire.  
  
Well, so much for _that_ happening.  
  
*  
  
Jump and Sam-Vaughn is guiding him into some little hallway thing that really serves no purpose other then secret clandestine meetings.  
  
Both the government kind and the _bada bing bada boom_ kind.  
  
Dean's thinking it's probably more of the latter right now.  
  
Sam-Vaughn jumps right into it. "I'm gonna say something. And it'll either be obvious to you, or seem presumptuous. Either way, I've got to say it," he says. "This isn't working. I've been thinking about it and I don't know what the hell to do."  
  
"What?" Dean knows what he's babbling about, yes, but it's his duty as older brother to wind him up.  
  
Sam sucks in a breath. "I think you know what."  
  
"I need you to tell me," Dean says.  
  
Sam gears up, and off he goes. "You need me to tell you what? That when you're on operations, I can't sleep at night? That when we're in debrief I have to force myself to remember what the hell it is we're supposed to be reviewing when all I want to do is kiss you?"  
  
Dean knew what Sam was talking about, but it take kind of takes his breath away to hear it. He blames it on the script. "Sometimes it is hard to remember what we're supposed to be talking about."  
  
"That's what I'm talking about," Sam says. "The thing that makes me crazy everyday is the people that would kill us if we were seen together -- The Alliance, SD-6, Sloane -- are the very forces that brought you into my life to begin with. What kind of a sick joke is that?"  
  
Dean sighs. "So what are you thinking? That maybe we shouldn't be working together?"  
  
"That's what I was thinking. But then I thought, we are great together -- "  
  
"I know."  
  
" -- and the more we work together, the sooner The Alliance gets destroyed."  
  
Dean bites his lip. "So what are you suggesting?"  
  
Then, the door opens.  
  
Bobby-Weiss steps in. "What is this, the flirting corner?"  
  
Sam-Vaughn shifts restlessly. "Uh, we're talking."  
  
Bobby-Weiss scoffs. "I figured that out. Uh, there's a meeting. National security. Remember? It's important. For the people."  
  
"We'll be right there," Dean says, trying to get him to go. the fuck. away.  
  
He does. But the moment is over.  
  
*  
  
Next he's standing in a bathroom, feeling like he's going to be sick, though he can't figure out why.  
  
He's wearing black panties and garters (and yes, he knows what garters are), and a matching bra.  
  
He totally fills it out.  
  
He feels like an idiot for not cluing in sooner, but whatever. He's got boobs.  
  
He's also got a black whippy thing. Huh.  
  
The script has him turning to the door, and putting his hand on the knob. He takes a deep breath before he opens it.  
  
There's a long hall, done in red and dark wood, and some fugly guy sitting in a chair at the end of it, surrounded by men who are obviously his goons.  
  
So it's like that. Great.  
  
He struts out, putting on a show like the script wants him to. Maybe if he focuses on how weird it is finally realizing he's a _chick_ , it'll distract him from the fact that it feels like his stomach is tying itself up in knots.  
  
He makes it to the end of the hall, and stands in front of the fugly guy who's stuffing his face with shrimp while downing a cup of champagne.  
  
He doesn't understand what the fugly says exactly, but he knows what the script wants. He turns and heads back down the hall to put on the _red one_.  
  
Black is more his color then red. Idiot.  
  
The red one has no whip. Pity. He could've beaten the guy senseless with it.  
  
 _Not bad_ is what the script is telling him the guy said. _That's better_.  
  
Oh, someone is getting their fat, shrimp-eating, champagne-drinking ass kicked.  
  
Fugly gets up to kick his goons out, free show over apparently, and Dean take the opportunity to look out the window and see where exactly he's at.  
  
Second he does, he really wishes he didn't.  
  
Plane.  
  
Crap.  
  
He doesn't think humming Metalica right now would be a good idea.  
  
He focuses on the script instead.  
  
Lucky it agrees with him that Fugly needs his ass kicked, so he does. After he does whatever little techy thing it is he's supposed to be doing, and gets dressed. He totally leaves the panties on though.  
  
He get the gun out of his bag, and sets out to find the goons.  
  
He manages to take the goon out without a huge problem. A few bumps, a couple bruises. Nothing he ain't had before.  
  
The fugly, though... he makes things more difficult.  
  
Fugly shoots at Dean, making him dive for cover. That's what he likes about demons. They usually don't use guns.  
  
"You think you can steal from us, you little bitch?!"  
  
Oh. Nobody calls him a bitch.  
  
He plans on shooting the Fugly, but instead his eyes are drawn to the tiny little airplane window.  
  
Oh shit.  
  
He grabs onto the half wall as tight as he can with one arm while the other aims the gun at the window.  
  
 _Shit shit shit shit_.  
  
Sam's shouting "No! No, no, no, no!" in his ear.  
  
Neither of them stop the script from doing its thing.  
  
The plane depressurizes with a whistle and the KO'd goon is the first to fly.  
  
Dean is never ever getting on a plane again after this.  
  
Fugly goes next, and if Dean had any air in his lungs, he'd be laughing. Asshole deserved it. Black one was so much better.  
  
Somehow he manages to make it to the parachutes, strap one on and not hit any part of the plane on his way out.  
  
Planes. suck. ass.  
  
Never again.  
  
*  
  
Dean misses quite a bit between hitting the ground and standing next to Sam-Vaughn and Bobby-Weiss in mission gears, listening to Mr. Clean go on about how, god willing, by tomorrow the Alliance will no longer exist.  
  
Dean can get behind that. Totally.  
  
Hell, maybe that's the key to this whole thing. Finishing the Alliance. Maybe it'll win them the game he barely remembers he's playing half the time. They're playing their roles. Fulfilling them.  
  
And, possibly losing themselves in the process.  
  
Yeah, it's time to end this bitch.  
  
*  
  
Apparently some guy named Geiger is holding John-Jack in the basement at SD-6, so first thing the script has Dean do is run down to rescue him.  
  
There's awkward moment when John-Jack calls Dean _sweetheart_.  
  
Once he makes sure that John-Jack is alright he goes back upstairs, where firearms portion of the raid is over, and all the SD-6 workers are being rounded up.  
  
Dean wonders why it's not over yet.  
  
They finished it, didn't they?  
  
He spots Sam about the same time Sam spots him, and, wow. It's like... magnets.  
  
So the analogy is crap, but who can really blame him for not being able to think up a good one when Sam's coming at him with _that_ look on his face, and his arms are folding around him, and...  
  
Whoa.  
  
He's kissing Sam.  
  
Sam's kissing him.  
  
It's fucking awesome.  
  
Like... awesome times awesome times infinity. Or, ya know, some other really lame girly way of saying best. damn. kiss. ever.  
  
Kill him now, he'll die happy.  
  
Only not, cause even Bobby-Weiss trying to talk to them right now is making him want to kill the man. Sure, maybe under different circumstances he'd be freakin' embarrassed as hell making out with his _brother_ in front of Bobby, but right now he couldn't care less if he tried.  
  
It was _that_ good.  
  
*  
  
Unfortunately, they separated soon after, so Dean's pretty sure that jumping to him coming out of some pool in a smoking little blue bikini didn't cause him to miss something _awesome_.  
  
Script has him taking off his top as he walks toward one of the changing tents, and even though he _knows_ that it's for the mark's benefit, it makes even more sense when he sees that Sam-Vaughn in already in there.  
  
And getting quite the eyeful.  
  
Dean grins, and ducks behind the flap to wait for the mark to show up.  
  
*  
  
It jumps again, and he's standing at the stove, cooking something.  
  
Okay then.  
  
Sam's behind him, and Dean's apparently playing coy as he brushes up against him to grab something or other, feeding him some of whatever it is that's cooking, and bending down to check on the stuff in the oven.  
  
Finally, _finally_ , Sam's had enough and grabs his arm, spinning him around and kissing him.  
  
Coy, though, is still in the building.  
  
"You're so beautiful," Sam whispers, rubbing his nose against Dean's.  
  
Dean _would_ object to being called beautiful, but... chick. Right. He is. Well, he's hot. Same difference.  
  
"Dinner's ready," he whispers back.  
  
"You do have an oven, you know. We can reheat," Sam says, making a very valid point.  
  
Goodbye, coy.  
  
Dean grins and kicks the oven shut.  
  
*  
  
He jumps again, all of a sudden on the bed, and for a moment he's certain he skipped right past all the good stuff, which would be just like the damn Trickster.  
  
Only Sam's there, kissing him and Dean relaxes.  
  
Fucking _finally_.  
  
*  
  
When he opens his eyes, he's in the hotel room. Sam's wrapped around him, very very naked, and Dean has no boobs.  
  
The Trickster is sitting at the table watching them with a look that reminds him strongly of that obsessed fan-girl Becky.  
  
Not good.  
  
When the Trickster sees that he's awake he sighs dramatically. "Don't you just _love_ that story? I mean, of course there's so much more to it, but this was the best part. Angst and pain and espionage, but with hope, love and sex all throughout."  
  
Dean groans. "Get out, before I decided get up and kill you."  
  
Trickster laughs. "Oh, I knew from the moment I started this that you two would be the _perfect_ Sydney and Vaughn. Constantly making dopey love sick eyes at each other. Of course, as I said, I only did the best parts," he says. "If I were you, I'd be nice to me, unless you want to wake up two years from now, with no memory between now and then, and your boyfriend there married to Ruby. The blonde version, not the brunette."  
  
Dean glares at him. "What is it that you want, exactly? We did everything you wanted us to."  
  
The Trickster stands up, claps his hands together. "That, my little spy, is for me to know, and you worry about."  
  
He blinks out of sight before Dean can respond.  
  
"Crap."  
  
Sam's arms tighten around him. "Pretty much, yeah."  
  
Dean twist his head to look at him. "You were awake the whole time, asshole. Why didn't you jump in?"  
  
His brother just grins. "You were handling it so well, though."  
  
Dean smacks the arm around him hard enough to leave a red imprint behind before cuddling back into Sam's embrace. "I don't even know what that show was."  
  
"Alias," Sam says, voice muffled slight, as he has his face buried in the space between Dean's neck and shoulder.  
  
Dean quirks an eyebrow. "And how the fuck do you know that?"  
  
Sam hums sleepily. "Jess used to watch it all the time. I figured it out about the time you showed up with the Bozo hair."  
  
"Why didn't you say something, about the fact that I was... _ya know_?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"I was a chick, Sam! Why didn't you tell me?" Dean huffs.  
  
Sam pushes himself up to look down at Dean. "Wait... you didn't know?"  
  
"Well, it wasn't like I was _there_ the whole time, ya know. I kept jumping around, missing what seemed like big parts of the story line, and never really had a chance to look in a mirror."  
  
"But... you wore dresses, Dean. And you had, ya know, boobs," Sam exclaims. "And no dick!"  
  
"Hey! I thought I was just a very good spy, being able to dress up like a girl. And it's not like they were _that_ big of boobs. It was hard to tell the difference," Dean explains. "Plus, I totally did have my dick up until the airplane fiasco. Then it just kind of... disappeared."  
  
Sam's eyes are wide. "It... disappeared? Just like that?"  
  
"The Trickster has a strange sense of humor," Dean says. "Besides, it's back now." He leers at Sam. "You can totally check if you're so worried."  
  
Sam totally does.  
  
*  
  
The Trickster whistles as he walks away from the Winchester's window. It's always fun fucking with those two.  
  
Plus, they're kind of cute together.  
  
And, if they ever piss him off too bad, there are plenty of awesome fanfictions he can make them live out.  
  
The fan-girls will _worship_ him.


End file.
